


Do Androids Dream of Expensive Scarves?

by fictionalaspect



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post-Split, Robots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-10
Updated: 2011-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-17 21:31:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalaspect/pseuds/fictionalaspect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-split fluff. Now with 100% more robots!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do Androids Dream of Expensive Scarves?

**Author's Note:**

> Stories about robots require a lot of disclaimers (for good reason). No one harms a robot or has sex with a robot in this story. Also, please don't take this one very seriously. I wrote it mostly on a whim for [](http://roga.livejournal.com/profile)[**roga**](http://roga.livejournal.com/), because we started talking about the potential hilarity of robots in fic. Thanks go to [](http://anoneknewmoose.livejournal.com/profile)[**anoneknewmoose**](http://anoneknewmoose.livejournal.com/) and [](http://misswonderheart.livejournal.com/profile)[**misswonderheart**](http://misswonderheart.livejournal.com/) for reading it over ♥

Later on, whenever Brendon tells this story—which isn't often—he will maintain that he never intended to find the robot. He will point out that he wasn't even looking for it in the first place; that he and Spencer didn't even know it was _there_ until Brendon pulled back a sea of coats and jackets from their winter closet and found himself face-to-face with the Ryanbot. He will also point out that they didn't know it was functional, as they had never managed to make it say more than six words at the cabin, and that Spencer turning it on had been entirely by mistake, and that basically the entire story was a series of increasingly ill-timed accidents, one after the other, like bad clockwork.

It is also usually at this point that Ryan—the _real_ Ryan—can't stop laughing.

-

 _August, 2009_

"No," Brendon said, frowning. He pushed another one of their absurdly warm winter jackets aside. "I swear to god we put it in here. It's the grey one, you know, the peacoat, I took it to England with us—"

"That was two years ago," Spencer said, rolling his eyes. "We've been on how many continents since then?"

"Three," Brendon said, still pulling jackets out from the back of the closet. Despite the air conditioning, it was still sweltering in their condo; just touching the heavy wool jackets to move them was making his skin itch.

"And you don't think you've—holy SHIT," Spencer said, jumping backwards. Brendon turned around. Ryan Ross was staring at them from inside the closet. Brendon had a moment of sheer, unadulterated panic—he would remember if he was a serial killer who had stuffed Ryan in there, right? People would notice if he'd accidentally blacked out and killed one of his former bandmates, right?—and then Spencer let out a breath and walked over, poking Ryan in the cheek.

"It's the fucking robot," Spencer said, glaring at it. "What the fuck? I thought we got rid of this thing."

"Holy shit," Brendon breathed out. "Okay. That just scared the crap out of me, dude."

"Me too," Spencer said. He poked the Ryanbot again. It didn't respond. Ryan's expression—the robot's expression—was blank and peaceful. He looked vaguely sad.

(Brendon had never really asked about the Ryanbot, because he didn't want to know. It had shown up at the cabin one day after a marathon session with Jon's favorite bong, packed into a large cardboard box. Ryan had gleefully rubbed his hands together, a huge smile on his face just on this side of mania. Brendon had decided right then and there to not ask any questions, in case whatever had taken Ryan over was catching.

The robot had disappeared somewhere a few days later. Brendon had breathed a sigh of relief.)

"It never even worked," Spencer said, flicking it on the nose. "I think Ryan only ever taught it to say a few words. It's basically just a Ryan-sized statue."

"It's fucking creepy," Brendon said, shaking his head. "I always thought so. Why is it even here?"

"I have no idea," Spencer said. He looked at the Ryanbot for a moment, and then he drew his hand back and slapped Ryan across the face.

"Dude," Brendon said, turning and grabbing onto Spencer's arm in case he tried to take another swing. "What was that for?"

"I can't do it to the real one," Spencer said, shrugging. He had an odd expression on his face, at once annoyed and vaguely wistful. "You should try it, " Spencer said, after a moment. "That felt cathartic."

"I am not beating up a Ryan-sized robot," Brendon said, shaking his head at Spencer. "No matter how much I might want to right now."

"Thank you," Ryan drawled.

Brendon froze. He took several deep breaths, and then when he was sure he was entirely sane, he turned back to the Ryanbot.

It blinked at him.

"Hello," Ryan drawled. "Why am I in a closet?"

"Oh my god," Spencer said weakly. "Oh, god."

"No," the Ryanbot said pleasantly. "Ryan. But you can call me God if you want. I don't mind."

"Fuck," Brendon said, slamming the door of the closet shut and leaning up against it. "You turned it on. You must have turned it on when you hit it."

"Shit," Spencer agreed. He was almost entirely pale. "Shit, we're going to have to—we're going to have to call Ryan and figure out how to turn it off."

"That is not okay," Brendon said. "That's—fuck, Spencer, we haven't. _You_ haven't. And now we're going to have to call him for the first time for—uh—-uh—the _robot_?"

"I know," Spencer said, swallowing. "But—dude, Brendon, we can't just leave it _on._ " As if on cue, the Ryanbot knocked at the inside of the door. "Can I come out?" Ryan's voice said, dry and amused. "It's kind of dark in here."

"I thought you said it didn't know how to talk," Brendon hissed.

"It didn't," Spencer hissed back. "Ryan was all proud when he got it to say 'hello.' I don't know how the fuck it's talking."

"Spencer?" the Ryanbot said, a little softer. "Can I come out now?" The Ryanbot definitely sounded sad. Brendon felt his stomach twist. It _wasn't_ Ryan, he knew that, and hell, he was still _furious_ with Ryan, but it just—it sounded so much _like_ him. Brendon couldn't leave him locked in a closet.

"What are you doing?" Spencer hissed, when Brendon started to move away and grab for the doorknob. "Are you insane?"

"I'm going to ask him if he knows where his off button is," Brendon said. "And if that doesn't work, we'll call Ryan. But I can't—Spence."

Spencer was silent for a moment. He bit his lip.

"Fine," Spencer said, eventually. "But if this doesn't work, I'm locking him back in the closet until he's turned off."

"Fair enough," Brendon agreed. He pulled the door open, only to see the Ryanbot's hand raised against the wood, like he'd been about to knock again.

"Thank you," Ryan said, nodding at Brendon. Brendon felt his world spin and shift a little. The robot didn't only sound like Ryan—it had all his mannerisms, from the way he held his head cocked slightly to one side, to the way he stood slightly bowlegged.

"You can," Brendon said, and then he had to stop and clear his throat. Ryanbot looked at him inquisitively. "You can come out of there," Brendon said, lamely. "Sorry we put you in a closet."

"It's okay," Ryan said, shrugging a little. He stepped carefully over the piles of coats on the floor, ending up right in front of Brendon. Ryan had obviously dressed him in his own clothing; he was wearing a paisley shirt, a dark green vest, brown trousers, and a silk scarf. Brendon noticed, however, that his wrists were smooth and bare.

"Ryan," Spencer said slowly, as though he was talking to an elderly person or a small child. "Do you know where your off switch is?"

"Oh," Ryan said, blinking at him. "Of course. It's right here." He pointed to a spot at the base of his neck, tucked underneath his curly hair. "Why?"

"No reason," Spencer said quickly, leaning over to press it. The Ryanbot's eyes went comically wide, and then there was a soft whooshing noise, the hum of electronics powering down. Ryan stared blankly in front of him, head tilted slightly.

"Thank god," Brendon said, shaking his head. He reached up and closed Ryan's eyelids, because it seemed like the thing to do. Also, the Ryanbot was staring _right at him,_ and it was fucking weird.

"Yeah," Spencer said. And then, "Now what the hell do we do?"

-

"You can't put him back in the closet," Brendon said, frowning and crossing his arms.

"Why the fuck not?" Spencer asked, one hand on the Ryanbot's arm, already preparing to lift him. "He's a _robot_."

"It's just—I don't know," Brendon said, throwing up his hands a little. The Ryanbot was still standing next to the closet, exactly where they'd shut him off the night before. "I don't know, okay? It just feels...wrong."

"We can't leave him here," Spencer said, crossing his arms in return. "I walked past him this morning and almost pissed myself. He scared me half to death."

"I know," Brendon said. "I know, I do, just—anywhere else. We can put him in the living room and throw a blanket over him, or something."

"How is that less creepy?" Spencer said.

"It isn't," Brendon said. "But at least I'd feel less like I was a psycho who locks their former bandmates in closets and leaves them to _die._ "

"He can't—you're insane," Spencer said, shaking his head. "It's a _robot_."

"Who looks like Ryan," Brendon said, frowning back. "Seriously, Spencer. I just. I can't help it. I feel weird about it."

"I feel weird about having a robot in our living room," Spencer grumbled, but he shook his head and began to hoist the Ryanbot up underneath his arms. "Fuck, he's heavy."

"Hah," Brendon said, triumphant. "You said _he._ You called it a _he._ "

"It," Spencer said. "Whatever."

"Don't take your anger out on the Ryanbot," Brendon said. " _He_ never did anything to you."

"Fuck you, that's not what this is about," Spencer said, dragging the Ryanbot towards the living room. "A little help, here?"

"Fine," Brendon said, leaning down to pick up Ryan's legs. He wasn't wearing any shoes; it was amazing how life-like his skin felt. "Wasn't there an episode of Buffy like this?" Brendon said, as they dragged Ryan into the living room. His limbs were unnaturally stiff.

"Yes," Spencer said crankily. "And it ended in the robot being murdered by a gang of demon bikers."

"Oh," Brendon said. "That's okay then. We don't have demon biker gangs up here."

"Says _you_ ," Spencer said. He stopped next to the TV hutch, grunting a little as he set Ryan back up on his feet, facing the wall.

"No," Brendon said, stepping back and eying the robot critically. "Don't face him towards the wall. That's _way_ more creepy. He looks like something out of a horror movie."

"I'm putting a blanket over him," Spencer said, over his shoulder. Brendon could hear him rummaging around in the hallway closet, and then he came back with something large and black and fuzzy. Brendon paused, letting what he was seeing sink in.

"Is that Regan's old Snuggie?" Brendon said, after the moment had passed. "That Shane forgot to take with him?"

"Yes," Spencer said, trying to get the hood over Ryan's head. "Shut up. This way he'll be covered up and it won't fall off."

"No," Brendon said, tilting his head thoughtfully. "No, actually, I was going to say—We don't have any lightsabers hanging around, do we?"

-

Spencer raised his camera again.

"You're right," Brendon said thoughtfully, adjusting the fake mustache on the Ryanbot's face so wouldn't fall off. "This _is_ kind of cathartic."

-

Over the course of the week, the Ryanbot gained an increasingly large collection of accessories. On Thursday, Brendon discovered that his limbs could be locked into place without turning him on. Spencer proceeded to lock them up and out, held out in front of him in a vaguely Jesus-like fashion, and then hang all of their hats and umbrellas on him.

It was quite a fetching look for him, really.

-

By Saturday, Brendon could feel the slight itching of his conscience, tapping away at the back of his skull. He didn't feel _that_ bad about dressing up the Ryanbot—it was better than shoving him in the closet—but the fact remained that they owned a walking, talking facsimile of Ryan Ross, and they still hadn't told Ryan that it was here.

He wasn't quite sure what made him walk across the living room and press his fingers to the back of Ryan's skull. Maybe it was the weather—clear and breezy and full of sunshine. Maybe it was the empty house around him, Spencer and the dogs out for a day of canine bonding with Shane and Regan.

Maybe it was that he was sort of lonely.

"Hello," the Ryanbot said, blinking at him from under the hood of a Snuggie, Spencer's favorite fedora, and six winter scarves. "Is it winter?"

"Not—quite," Brendon said hesitantly. "Not really, no."

"Scarves are for winter," the Ryanbot said, confidentially, as though he was imparting a secret. He looked down at his accouterments. Brendon's fake lightsaber bumped against his hip. "May I take these off?"

"Sure," Brendon said, feeling guilty all of a sudden. "Um, I'll help." Together they unwound Ryan from his various layers; every time Ryan's fake skin brushed Brendon's, Brendon shivered accidentally. It was _weird_. Ryan was even slightly warm to the touch, just like a human.

"Thank you," Ryan said, when they were done. He looked down at the pile of accessories on the floor, and then up at Brendon. "Did you require something of me?"

The words sounded strange coming out of Ryan's mouth—delivered in his familiar monotone, but oddly formal. Brendon figured that maybe Ryanbot's programming was still catching up. He and Spencer had talked about it, idle one night over their beers—Spencer had guessed that maybe the Ryanbot had some sort of standby system, that maybe it learned by listening, like all of those crazy supercomputers they built in government labs. That maybe they'd forgotten to turn him off at some point, and the Ryanbot had just...kept listening.

"Not really," Brendon said, shrugging uncomfortably. He took a deep breath. "I just kind of wanted—to hang out, I guess."

"Okay," Ryan said, smiling quick and sudden. "We can do that. You're on my list of acceptable contacts."

"...contacts?" Brendon said, frowning.

"My primary instructions include a list of acceptable contacts," the Ryanbot said. "Would you like to hear them?"

"Sure," Brendon said, after a moment. "Why not?" He very carefully didn't think about how his immediate response had been _Would you like to tell me about them?_ It was a robot, Brendon reminded himself firmly. Only a robot.

"Ryan Ross, Jon Walker, Spencer Smith, Brendon Urie, Zack Hall, Shane Valdez, Keltie Colleen," Ryan said. "I may accept instructions and behavior modifications from anyone on the acceptable contacts list, provided they do not instruct me to harm anyone, harm myself, or play practical jokes on any of the above."

"Aw," Brendon said. "Dammit." Then he thought about the Ryanbot's words more closely. "Wait," Brendon said. "So you know you're not Ryan? You know you're a robot?"

"I am a robot," the Ryanbot said, winking at him. "I am also Ryan Ross."

"Huh," Brendon said. He wondered who had taught the robot to wink like that, sly and mischievous, like they were both in on the joke. "Well. Okay then, Ryan Ross. Want to play Guitar Hero?"

-

"Oh fuck no," Spencer said, over the sound of Bogart barking excitedly to make sure everyone knew he was home. " _No_."

"Yes," Brendon said, placidly, watching Ryan effortlessly beat Dragonforce on Expert. "This is _amazing_. My life is complete."

"Are you high?" Spencer demanded, dropping the leash by the door with a clank. Bogart raced through the house, his nails clacking on the tile.

"A little," Brendon answered. "I tried to get the Ryanbot high, too, but it didn't work. He told me he doesn't breathe."

"Of course he doesn't breathe," Spencer said.

"He might have," Brendon said. He fumbled down near his leg for another Cheez Doodle. "He has skin. He has hair. It was worth a shot."

"I'm turning him off," Spencer said, reaching out toward the back of Ryan's neck. Brendon slapped his hand away. "Don't you dare," Brendon said. "He's almost got a perfect score. Two more times and he's _got_ this."

"Once more," Ryan said, watching the screen intently, his fingers a blur over the keys. "I am currently at 93% efficiency."

"I hate both of you so much right now," Spencer said.

-

The thing about the Ryanbot was that he could do almost anything, as Brendon discovered in the next few days. He could cook, although he had some trouble with the gas burners and was now sporting a metallic patch on his left wrist where his cyberskin had peeled away. He could clean, if Brendon showed him what to do and watched very carefully to make sure he didn't spray Windex on the dog.

He was, in fact, almost exactly as good at functioning as the real Ryan Ross.

"I'm still so not on board with this," Spencer muttered, as they stood back and watched through the window as the Ryanbot attempted to figure out how to sweep the porch.

"You were the one hitting him," Brendon pointed out. "Look, at least now he's happy. He kept asking me if there was anything he was required to do, like, every hour."

"Ow," the Ryanbot said, after sweeping a bit too excitedly and smacking himself in the face with a broom.

"It feels weird," Spencer said, shaking his head.

"Oh, _now_ you say it feels weird," Brendon said. "It wasn't weird when you wanted to stuff him in a closet, but letting him be useful isn't okay?"

"I don't know," Spencer said. "Before, it was like—we were joking around. I was pissed, but I wasn't actually going to do anything _really_ mean. Because it was Ryan, even though it's not actually Ryan, and that's what we do, we joke around. This feels sort of—" Spencer waved his hands a little helplessly. "Exploitative."

"Huh," Brendon said, biting his lip. As much as he was enjoying not having to keep up his side of the housework, another tingling in his conscience told him Spencer was probably right. "Maybe."

"Ow," the Ryanbot said sadly, staring in confusion at the broom.

-

"New plan," Brendon said, sitting Ryan down on the sofa. "I'm Brendon Urie, okay? One of your acceptable contacts. I would like to give you some new instructions."

"Okay?" Ryan said, raising an eyebrow at him curiously.

"Your job is to learn about being human," Brendon said, looking over at Spencer for support. "We're not going to make you do any more chores, unless you decide you want to do them to learn more. But what we want you to do is just listen and absorb things and work on your mimicry and your speech. Is that okay?"

"Understood," Ryan said, nodding.

"Great," Brendon said. "Thank you." the Ryanbot paused for just a moment, and then he looked up at them and said—in a perfect imitation of Ryan's dry, sarcastic monotone—"No problemo."

Out of the corner of his eye, Brendon could see Spencer cracking a smile.

-

"We have to call him," Brendon said, soft and private, the next time they were eating dinner out. The Ryanbot was at home, with casual instructions to explore the Internet if he felt like it. Brendon had opened Wikipedia before he left, figuring that would give them enough time to eat and come back before Ryan got bored again.

"I know," Spencer said, toying with his pasta. "I know, we do, we totally have to."

"Yeah," Brendon said.

They were both silent for a moment.

"But it's kind of nice," Spencer said hesitantly, hiding his words in his water glass. "Um. Just having him around."

"I know," Brendon said, biting his lip a little. "It is."

-

"Sup?" Ryan said, as they walked in the door. "How was the food?"

"Good," Brendon said, nodding. The new Ryan was still taking some getting used to; he picked up on media cues incredibly quickly, modifying his vocabulary to match. but he occasionally picked up the wrong ones. It had led to some (frankly hysterical) conversations about why it wasn't appropriate to use phrases like _GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAALLLLLLLLL!_ or _Praise Jesus!_ in casual conversation. Brendon was considering getting one of those channel blocker things, just to make everyone's lives a little easier.

(Other than that, though, the Ryanbot was more and more like Ryan by the day. It was starting to become unnerving.)

"How's the Internet doing?" Spencer said, dropping his keys in the bowl by the door. "Did Britney do anything interesting?"

"Not really," the Ryanbot said. Brendon's laptop was facing away from them; Ryan was clicking around distractedly on it. "I found some sweet videos, though," Ryan said, turning Brendon's laptop to face Brendon and Spencer with a pleased expression. "Check it out."

Brendon blinked.

And then he blinked again.

"Um, Ryan?" Spencer said carefully. "That's—why are you showing us porn?"

"Because that's what guys do," Ryan said, blinking at them and then shrugging one shoulder in return.. "They share porn. The Internet told me so. You guys don't think it's hot?"

"Uh," Brendon said. "Yes? But...no."

"What?" Ryan said, still blinking. On screen, a lady contorted herself into a decidedly awkward looking position.

"Oh, god," Spencer said, rubbing his forehead with the tips of his fingers. "Shit. Um, Ryan, executive command menu, please."

"Acceptable contact: Spencer Smith," Ryan said immediately, his eyes glazing slightly and tone becoming slightly more mechanical. "Credentials accepted. What can I help you with?" Brendon reached over and carefully hit the 'pause' button on his laptop, and then thought better of it and just closed the window.

"Don't show porn to people," Spencer said. "Even if they're on the acceptable contacts list."

"Understood," Ryan said, with a small jerk of his head. "Command accepted."

"But you can watch it," Brendon interjected, looking slightly shifty. "If you want."

"What?" Spencer hissed, frowning at Brendon. "Dude."

"Maybe he likes porn," Brendon mumbled, looking down at the ground. "We don't know his life. I'm not going to forbid him to watch it."

Spencer rolled his eyes. "Fine," he said. "Ryan, you're allowed to watch porn. But only by yourself."

"Understood," Ryan said again, nodding jerkily.

"Command menu finished," Brendon said. "Return to regular programming." Ryan tilted his head slightly, and this his shoulders relaxed, his expression becomes less blank and more like regular Ryan.

"Hey," Ryan said, frowning and reaching out towards the laptop in Brendon's hand. "I was using that."

"I need it for now," Brendon said, backing out of the room carefully. "You can have it back in the morning. Watch Survivor with Spencer for a while."

"Okay," Ryan said after a moment, apparently satisfied.

-

Ryan had accessed nine thousand, four hundred twenty six webpages during dinner. He'd read all of the Wikipedia entries filed under letters A to C—ninety-six thousand, one hundred and seventy-two of them—and then he'd promptly moved on to porn.

Brendon made a face at the screen. Then he texted Spencer, who was watching Survivor with Ryan in the living room. _Ryan knows way too much about sex_ , Brendon wrote. _Can a robot be a nympho?_

 _If any robot can, it's this one,_ Spencer sent back, but he eventually showed up in Brendon's room after the episode was over, closing the door behind him.

"It is terrible?" Spencer said, mildly curious. "It's all horribly brain-scarred stuff, isn't it?"

"Not...really," Brendon said, still frowning. "Um. Maybe he was programmed weird? It's mostly gay porn."

"Oh," Spencer said, his face going slightly pale. Brendon looked at him in surprise. "This is all your fault," Spencer hissed, pointing at Brendon accusingly. " _You_ introduced him to the Internet."

"Huh?" Brendon said, frowning. "Dude, what's the problem?"

"Earrgh," Spencer said, and sat down heavily on Brendon's bed. "Fuck."

"You're acting really weird," Brendon said. "I don't understand what the big deal is. So he's got a programming glitch. It happens."

"It's not a glitch," Spencer muttered faintly.

"Wait," Brendon said, frowning and sitting up. "Wait. _What?_ "

"Shit," Spencer said softly, and then he squared his shoulders, looking Brendon in the eye. "It's not a glitch," Spencer said. "The Ryanbot's just—-being Ryan."

"What?" Brendon said again, his mouth falling open.

"I know it seems like subtlety and Ryan Ross only go together on opposite day," Spencer said, wincing. "He's, um. Pretty low-key about it. But yeah. It's not a glitch. The Ryanbot is just...Ryan. He's as close to the real thing as possible."

"No way," Brendon said, shaking his head. "I don't believe it. I have awesome gaydar."

"It's broken," Spencer said.

"It is not," Brendon said. "I swear to god, Spencer. I don't know what he told you, but Ryan isn't anything but straight."

"It's not something he _told_ me," Spencer muttered, hiding his face in his hands.

Brendon paused mid-tirade.

"What?" Brendon said. "No way."

"Uh-huh," Spencer said weakly.

"Bullshit," Brendon said, shaking his head. "No way."

"Yes way," Spencer says, sighing and dropping his heads. "Dammit. You're just going to make me say it, aren't you?"

"Did you guys make out or something?" Brendon said, his expression softening. "Spence. Is that what this is about? That's okay, dude. You're allowed to expand your horizons."

"No," Spencer said dryly, still bright-red. "That's not what this is about. This is about how Ryan and I fucked like eight times."

Brendon stared at him.

"Oh," Brendon said softly. His eyes were very large.

He was silent for a long moment.

"I need more beer to deal with this," Brendon said, standing up. "I'm going to do that, and then come back here. Where you will not be. You can go bond with our _apparently_ bisexual robot, or something."

"No, hey," Spencer said, getting a hold of himself enough to reach out for Brendon. "Dude. Don't be like that. We didn't—we just didn't want it to be an issue—"

"My room," Brendon said firmly, his mouth already beginning to set in a thin line. "Beer. _No one else_. At and least twenty four hours of solitude, so I don't punch you in the face after I come back out."

"Okay," Spencer said quietly, to Brendon's retreating back.

-

"So here's the thing," Brendon said, shuffling tiredly into Spencer's room the next morning. "Way back in 2006, when I was like seventeen and really stupid—"

"Brendon," Spencer said softly, looking up from his computer. He looked sad.

"No, let me finish," Brendon said, sitting down on the bed. "I just—he turned me down, you know? And he said—he said it was for the band."

"Oh," Spencer said, looking away.

"So I just thought—I thought he was letting me down easy, you know, I can take a hint, but apparently that was all bullshit, so. So whatever, I mean, I'm over it," Brendon said, shaking his head. He grimaced. "Also, I'm really hung over."

"We never meant to," Spencer said, his voice still soft and apologetic. "It wasn't—it wasn't some big conspiracy. It would just happen, and then we wouldn't talk about it, and then it happened again. He probably didn't want to make anything worse."

"Maybe," Brendon said. He looked so miserable that Spencer found himself opening his mouth without thinking; unfortunately, the first thing that came out was "I would have said yes."

"What?" Brendon said, whipping his head up.

"If you had asked me," Spencer mumbled, already wishing he could sink into the floor. It was _true_ , but he'd never meant to reveal that particular secret quite so bluntly. "If you'd asked, I would have said yes."

"Really?" Brendon said, looking surprised. "I thought you—"

"What?" Spencer said.

"You and Ryan, you guys were always so—actually, you know what, nevermind," Brendon said, getting up and scratching his stomach. "This is all ancient history. We should just forget it."

"Okay," Spencer said, looking back at his keyboard. "If that's what you want."

"That is definitely what I want right now," Brendon said, shaking his head, "Also waffles. I want some of those, too."

"Right," Spencer said. He waited until Brendon was leaving the room, until his back was through the doorway before saying out loud to the room at large—"But I would have."

His voice echoed slightly, but Brendon was already too far away to respond.

-

Things were slightly strained for a few days. Brendon avoided both Spencer and the Ryanbot, leaving them to amuse themselves. So Spencer hung out with Ryan, feeling a growing sense of guilt over the entire situation.

"What's wrong with Brendon?" the Ryanbot asked, after a day or two. "Did I do something?"

"No," Spencer said, feeling a tug in his chest, deep down next to his heart. " _You_ didn't do anything wrong."

-

Brendon found the first small gift outside his door one morning, tripping over it when he made his way to the bathroom. It was a tulip, slightly wilted, from his neighbor's flower garden. He didn't think much of it until he found the second, and the third, and the fourth—a pile of laundry, haphazardly folded, a bag of Cheetos, four shiny rocks from the garden.

Brendon picked the rocks up, sighing, and then went to go find Ryan. He found him in the kitchen, attempting to make pancakes and failing.

"Ryan," Brendon began, and then fell silent. He placed the rocks on the kitchen table, instead. The Ryanbot smiled at him hopefully.

"You like them?" Ryan said. "I thought they were pretty."

"You don't—I'm not mad at _you_ ," Brendon burst out. "It's just something the actual Ryan did. And the actual Spencer, but that's besides the point. You don't have to try and make up for it. I'm pretty sure _he_ wouldn't."

"But we're identical," the Ryanbot said, setting down the bowl covered in pancake batter. There was a smear of it across his cheek. "I told you. I'm Ryan Ross."

"You _aren't_ ," Brendon said, frustrated. "You're a robot. And fuck, sometimes I like you better than the real Ryan, but you just—you're not him. The real Ryan is pissed as fuck at us, and that's why it's so nice having you here, but you don't have to try and make up for this shit he pulled on me."

The Ryanbot shook his head. "I'm Ryan," he said again, sounding confused. "And the only behavior modifications are the ones installed by you and Spencer. Everything else is calibrated precisely to Ryan Ross's internal specifications."

"So he made you nicer than he actually is," Brendon said gloomily. "Figures."

"No," Ryan said, again. "My programming comes from the pre-purchase scanning regimen. Customers are not awake during the process."

Brendon blinked at him.

"Okay," Brendon said, after a moment. "Ignoring the fact that you're saying that Ryan let some crazy robot company scan his _brain_ before he went to the cabin—you mean, he didn't program you?"

"No," Ryan said, picking up the pancake bowl again. "I am a simulated replica. My anger responses are muted, as per company policy, but I can't behave in ways that are not already laid out by my simulation programming."

"Huh," Brendon said, faintly.

"Anyway," Ryan said, slipping further back into his normal persona. "Want some pancakes? I'm going to try not to fuck them up this time."

"Yeah," Brendon said, eventually. "Okay."

-

"Let's go surfing," Brendon said urgently, once he'd found Spencer sitting on the back porch in one of their lawn chairs. "It's nice out. We should go surfing."

"Wha?" Spencer mumbled, raising his sunglasses to look up at Brendon. "It's the middle of the day."

"Or we can just go to the beach," Brendon said. He shifted awkwardly, bouncing his heel against the smooth wood of the deck. "Come on, Spence. Let's go."

"Are you okay?" Spencer said, sitting up and frowning. "Did something happen?"

"I just—I need to get out of here," Brendon said, turning to go back inside. "I'm going to change and grab my keys. You don't have to come if you don't want to."

"No, I'll come," Spencer said, standing up and shaking his head a little. Trails of red sparks danced in his vision, and he blinked hard to clear them. "I need to put on sunscreen, though. I've already been out here for like an hour."

"I have some in my car," Brendon said, over his shoulder. Spencer nodded, padding indoors. He passed through the kitchen, which was covered in the remains of pancake-making. Ryan was nowhere to be seen. Spencer shrugged, and headed upstairs to find his bathing suit. He could hear Brendon rummaging around in his room, and then he appeared in Spencer's doorway, towel in hand.

"Where's Ryan?" Spencer said, tugging his shirt off and reaching for something he didn't care about getting sandy.

"Reading in the living room," Brendon said. "I bought him the complete works of Shakespeare in e-book form. He's going to be good for a while." Brendon bit his lip, tapping his fingers on the door. "You ready to go?" Brendon said, after a few seconds had passed. Spencer nodded slowly. Brendon looked like he was about to jump out of his skin, but Spencer knew that pushing it now would make it a moot point. Brendon wouldn't talk until he felt like talking about it.

The drive to the beach was fast and loud, with Brendon switching radio stations after every song. Spencer closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the headrest, wondering what the hell was going on.

-

The wind carried away the words the first time Brendon spoke, almost three hours after they'd arrived. Spencer turned on his side, brushing his hair away from his face. "What?" Spencer said, and Brendon finally turned from staring out at the waves to face him.

"Did you mean it?" Brendon said. His voice was flat, carefully inflected.

"Mean what?" Spencer said, confused. "Mean it about the sunscreen? Yeah, dude. I'm still going to need some. Although by this point it probably doesn't matter." He poked at the side of his arm, already beginning to glow red.

"Dumbass," Brendon said, soft and fond. He shook his head. "I just—Ryan said something to me. The Ryanbot did, not actual Ryan. And now I'm all fucked up, and I know I can't change anything but I feel like—" He paused. The wind blew around them for a moment, strong and clean, and then settled back down into a steady breeze. "I just don't know what to think," Brendon said, eventually. "I thought I knew all these things, and now I don't know what the hell I think."

"About Ryan?" Spencer said, shifting a little closer.

"About everything," Brendon said. "You and me and Ryan and Jon, and——and also just you and me. I don't know."

"Brendon, hey," Spencer said. "I'm sorry. I didn't want you to get fucked up over this."

"I don't think I'm fucked up, exactly," Brendon said, squinting against the sand blowing up from a particularly large gust.

"Then what's going on?" Spencer said, trying to ignore the swooping in his stomach. He didn't even know why he felt so strange, except that it seemed as though they were on the cusp of something large and important, peering down the edge to something monumental.

"I think I'm scared," Brendon admitted. He bit his lip. "The Ryanbot told me something. You were right, Spence. He can't do anything that the real Ryan doesn't do. So, I mean—forgetting for a second the whole fact that we're total creeps who have his robot—I think that means if we call actual Ryan? It will be okay."

"Yeah," Spencer said, looking down at the sand. He pushed his toes into the sand, feeling the way the heated top layers gave way to a sensation of cool grittiness against the soles of his feet. "Maybe."

"I'm fucking terrified," Brendon said. "It's so much easier to just stay like this. I just want to be angry and pissed off and have Ryan-lite hanging out in our kitchen. I don't want to deal with everything."

"But we have to," Spencer said, filling in the next line. He swallowed. "I know."

"Yeah," Brendon said softly.

They sat in silence for a moment.

"Hey, Spence?" Brendon said, turning to him. "There's something else."

"You want to tell him about the Ryanbot?" Spencer guessed. His stomach twisted again.

"No," Brendon said. He took a deep breathe. "No, it's just—you didn't answer, before. And I've been thinking about it. I'm not going to lie and say that I would have said yes then, because I was pretty focused on Ryan. I don't think I had room to see anyone else, you know? But if you—if we." Brendon felt silent again.

"I meant it," Spencer whispered, feeling lightheaded.

"If you asked me now," Brendon said hesitantly, and Spencer leaned over, pausing a few millimeters away. Brendon's breath was warm on his mouth, even with the wind.

"I'd say yes," Brendon whispered, and Spencer kissed him. It was gentle, soft, asking almost nothing. It was more of a promise than a kiss, but when it was over Spencer just wanted it again and again. He wanted to push Brendon into the sand and cover him, sink his fingers into Brendon's hair and feel the grit against his fingers, taste the salt on Brendon's skin. Brendon exhaled against his mouth, and Spencer pulled back slightly.

"This is big," Spencer said, his heart pounding in his chest. "This is complicated."

"Yeah," Brendon said, cracking a small smile. "Told you I was terrified."

"But it's kind of time to get over that, huh," Spencer said, speaking for both of them. "Time to just...grab life by the balls. Or something. "

"Nice metaphor," Brendon said, grinning wider. "Super appropriate."

"Shut up," Spencer said, feeling his own smile starting to form. They grinned stupidly at each other for a minute. The bridge of Brendon's nose was bright red. He had sand in his hair.

"You want to do it?" Spencer said, pulling out his phone and bringing up Ryan's number. He'd thought about deleting it, but he'd never quite gotten up the nerve. "Right now. I'm feeling brave. Let's fucking do this."

"Gimme," Brendon said, holding out his hand. He squared his shoulders, nodded at the phone, and then pressed 'dial.' The wind was dying down, enough that Spencer could hear Ryan's surprised "....hello?"

"Ryan," Brendon said, biting his lip on a smile. "Listen. We've got some shit to work out? but first—dude, do we have a story for you..."


End file.
